


Hell's Police Department

by Pomfry



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Cussing, Gen, Gordon Ramsey Is The Police Commissioner, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12907185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomfry/pseuds/Pomfry
Summary: Gordon is six coffees away from sleep, the weather isfucking cold- God does he fucking hate Gotham weather - and to make matters even worse -There's a goddamn man running around as a fuckingbat.Goddamnit. He should've listened to Jeremy when he ran out of the city with everything he could fit into his car and yelled, "You better come with me, this city is nuts!"Gordon, young and naive and still fucking dedicated to this shit hole of a city, had shrugged and said, "No.”Gordon was a fuckingidiot.





	Hell's Police Department

**Author's Note:**

> I...got a request on Tumblr for commissioner Gordon Ramsey.
> 
> It blew up.

Gordon is six coffees away from sleep, the weather is _fucking cold_ \- God does he fucking hate Gotham weather - and to make matters even worse -  
  
There's a goddamn _man_ running around as a fucking _bat._  
  
God _damnit._ He should've listened to Jeremy when he ran out of the city with everything he could fit into his car and yelled, "You better come with me, this city is _nuts!"_  
  
Gordon, young and naive and _still fucking dedicated to this shit hole of a city_ , had shrugged and said, "No.”  
  
Gordon was a fucking _idiot_.

 

He sighs, takes a sip of his coffee that came from the office coffee machine - it's more like motor oil - and grimaces, because, seriously, fuck Gotham. There's nothing appealing about it.

And yet, instead of joining his family in Britain like his mother begged him to when they moved back, Gordon digs in his heels and refuses because Gotham is his home, dammit, he will not leave it.

Proof that he's Gotham, born and bred and almost broken by the city that corrupts.

Gordon squints out his window, adjusting the bread loaf on his desk.

His people have learned to fear the bread.

A shadow falls on the floor behind him, and Gordon sighs, turning around and raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the closeness of the cowl.

“The fuck do you want, you dried out rodent,” he says nonchalantly, and sets his mug down on the window sill.

Gordon will not be intimidated by a _man_ wearing a _bat costume_ who _punches people._ No sir, he will not.

One whited out eye widens a bit, and Gordon walks over to his chair. “I don't particularly care who the hell you are,” he says over his shoulder as he looks over cases. “But you should answer my question, you asshat.”

A flap of cape, and Batman, as the media has started to call him, growls, “I need information on Malcolmish.”

Gordon snorts. “You really think I'll give you that?”

“No,” Batman says softly as he steps back. “I don't think you will.”

Then he's gone, and, as Gordon suspected, he took the files on Malcolmish.

“YOU UGLY SACK OF FUCKING USELESS YANKEE DOODLE DANCY PIECE OF SHIT,” Gordon howls in rage, and it echoes over the rooftops.

He hopes it reaches the incompetent asshole.

 

\--

 

Batman will not leave Hudson - a new officer, a kid really - alone, and it's pissing Gordon off.

So he sticks to Hudson, and slowly, ever so slowly, the kid starts to warm up to him, and of-fucking-course _that's_ when Batman shows up.

Hudson's terrified out of his mind, and though he's taller than Gordon by about half a foot, he's hiding behind him.

Gordon pats Hudson's arm and glares _murder_ at Batman, who doesn't move when at the force of it.

 _Impressive,_ Gordon thinks reluctantly, and straightens his back.

“Leave my officers the fuck alone,” he snaps, and Hudson cringes at the sound of it.

The shadows seem to fold around the fucking idiot with a cape, and Gordon doesn't give an inch, which makes a Batman’s lips tighten in approval.

“He has information,” Batman says instead, and Gordon snorts, crossing his arms.

 _“Everyone_ has information,” he says waspishly, and Hudson makes a low noise. When Gordon glances back, his eyes are wide, and Gordon is ready to beat this vigilante with a _wooden spoon._

“I think I know what he means,” Hudson says, and Gordon raises an eyebrow. “The case you gave me and Hill. I think that's what he means.”

Batman inclines his head, the ridiculous bat ears not even _moving,_ and doesn't say anything.

“Fuck off, you prick,” Gordon says irritably, and turns around, grabbing Hudson as he leaves.

(Batman still gets the fucking case files, and Gordon will _kill him slowly.)_

 

\--

 

Batman has a kid with him. A _kid_ fighting against _Gotham crime-_

Gordon takes a deep breath, hands gripping his desk so tight the old wood creaks, and tries, _very hard,_ not to throw something, because _what the fuck._

A shadow slips into his room, and Gordon glares openly as Batman steps forward silently, a little boy in red and green and yellow a moment behind him.

“Gordon,” Batman says grimly, and Gordon ignores him, heading towards the boy - who can't be more than _eight,_ what the fresh _fuck -_ in a vest with nothing covering his legs, which, again _what the actual fuck._ There are pedophiles in Gotham, child traffickers who would love to get their hands on a kid like this, and Gordon _cannot believe_ that Batman would let this kid be his sidekick knowing that. He can't believe that he let this kid be his sidekick _period._

“So,” Gordon says lightly as he crouches in front of him. “Are you cold out there in chilly Gotham?”

The kid, and he can't be anything but a kid because his giggle at Gordon's words lights up the room, makes a face and rubs at his arms dramatically.

“Sure am,” he chirps, and Gordon gets to his feet, grabbing his sensible, warm ass coat that he bought because he has _common sense,_ and gives it to the boy with hardly a thought.

“Me and Batman need to talk,” he says as the kid slips his arms inside Gordon's coat and zips it up - and dear lord he's practically _drowning_ in it, Gordon is going to _murder this vigilante._ “So why don't you go talk to Jim Gordon, he has cookies that I made for him but if you tell him I said to give them to you, he'll do it.”

The kid squints at him. “Are they good cookies,” he asks suspiciously, and Gordon fakes offence, scrunching his nose up.

“Of course,” he says, and the kid grins happily, patting his head before running out the door, feet slapping the wood floors.

Gordon watches him go, makes sure that he can't hear, before he turns on Batman, rage a fire in his gut and fury sparking in his eyes.

“What the _hell,”_ he whispers, voice strained. “Why would you bring him out into Gotham, why would you bring him into danger? Do you _actually_ have a brain the size of a fucking _bat?”_

“Robin is trained,” Batman says evenly, and Gordon wants to _hit him._ “Quite exceptionally, in fact, because I'm the one who trained him.”

Gordon slams a hand on his desk. “That doesn't matter,” he hisses. “What _does_ matter is that he's a fucking _child_ that won't be able to fight off everything, and he won't be able to fight off the advances I can guarantee people will give him because they're sick, because he won't know what the fuck is going on! Have you ever fucking thought of that, you stupid man!”

Gordon's near roaring at the end, and he has to tilt his head up to look at Batman, but by god he is _pissed_ and ready to shove his gun into Batman's face.

“That won't happen,” Batman says fiercely, and Gordon nearly laughs.

“Of course it will! He has nothing on his fucking legs and he's an adorable kid,” he snaps harshly, and tries not to think of the children he's saved, the ones with far away stares and no smiles. Tries not to think of Robin in the same position.

“If won't happen because I'll be there to stop it,” Batman growls, and Gordon grabs his cape, pulling him close.

“You won't be there all the time,” he says, face red with his anger, and Batman shoves him off, the darkness drawing in around him as Gordon hits his desk.

“Robin made this decision himself,” he says, and Gordon clenches his fist.

“He's _eight_ for God's sake! He'll _want_ to be a hero! That doesn't mean you fucking let him fight!”

Batman's face turns into a storm, but Gordon will _make him see reason_ because Robin doesn't need to fight. He's just a kid.

“He doesn't need to fight,” Gordon says, voice breaking, and Batman's jaw tightens, a muscle ticking as he hits a button on his belt. A minute later, Robin comes zooming back in, the Ziploc bag full of cookies dangling from his fingers, and Gordon gives him a tired smile as Batman barks out a _we're leaving, Robin._

They disappear into the night with Gordon's coat, and Gordon collapses into his chair, rubbing at his face.

Goddamnit.

 

\--

 

Robin doesn't show up for all of a week, and it's enough to get Gordon's blood pressure rising.

But then, reports of Robin come trickling back into Gordon's office, only he's wearing pants and covering more skin.

Gordon gets his coat back at the end of winter, but the pants stay, thank god.

At least Batman is smart enough to listen the only person with common sense in Gotham.

(Gordon's coat disappears every year, and every year Robin is seen wearing a coat that people _swear_ once belonged to the Police Commissioner. Gordon's just glad he's warm.)

 

\--

 

When Gordon catches Batman in the act of searching through his desk, he sighs, wishes that he could actually hurt Batman something terrible, and marches into his office, slamming the door shut behind this.

“What the fuck are you doing, you goddamn panini head,” he asks, and Batman doesn't even look up.

“Looking for files you have on Poison Ivy,” he replies, and Gordon snorts.

“You won't find much. And don't go through my files,” he says, and slaps Batman's hand when it wanders over to another drawer in one of Gordon's filing cabinets.

“Hm,” Batman grunts, and spares a look.

“Don't fucking touch my files, you shitty excuse for a knight,” Gordon says again, and Batman merely gave him a mild glare.

“I need those files,” he says impatiently, and Gordon throws his hands into the air.

“You have more experience fighting her,” he shouts.

“Hm,” Batman says again, and then he's gone.

And so is the files.

Gordon curses and sends for Jim to get him the copies.

“The Bat,” Jim asks, and Gordon groans.

“Yes.”

“I'll bring some coffee and Tylenol.”

“Jim, you are a goddamn saint.”

 

\--

 

When Gordon was relatively new to the force and he was bright eyed and still was experimenting with his volume when he yelled to get maximum frightening value, the Waynes died.

Gordon was on the crime scene, but he didn't pay attention to the bodies; no, he paid attention to the little boy staring in shock at his parents with blood on his face, because nobody else was and he was just a _kid._

Gordon took him to the police station, called his butler, and when his superior yelled at him for having the kid go home before they could get his statement, Gordon told him to fuck off and let the kid have a few days to process this.

The next day, however, Gordon went over to the Manor to make sure Bruce Wayne was okay.

The visits continued until Gordon was there every few days, and then he grew so close that he ends up going to school functions and being invited to galas.

Basically, by now, when Bruce is an adult and hiding how smart he is for some reason, Gordon is an unofficial Wayne.

So when Gordon goes up to Wayne Manor at ten in the morning because he wants to see his kind-of grandson, he doesn't think anything of it.

 

\--

 

“Alfred,” Gordon says as the door opens, and his old friend gives him the slightest of smiles back. “How is life?”

Alfred sighs, a look of long-suffering on his face, and Gordon claps him on the shoulder, already walking inside. Bruce is impossible at times, Gordon knows, and has to commend Alfred for dealing with him all day.

“So,” Gordon says, clapping his hands together, and pulls a book from the deep pockets of his coat. “Where's the kid?”

Alfred takes his jacket and hangs it up, saying, “In his room, sir.”

Gordon nods and heads for the stairs, calling over his shoulder that Alfred should just call him Gordon; it's not as though they haven't known each other long enough.

Alfred shakes his head. “You're a guest.”

Gordon snorts before he can stop himself, and goes to Dick's room, knocking before entering because he's a gentleman.

“Hey,” he says happily, and Dick looks up from his Gameboy.

“Grandpa Gordon,” he shouts, leaping up from his bed, and that's when a Gordon sees it.

His coat, _the one he gave Robin and hasn't gotten back yet,_ is laying on his grandson's dresser.

Gordon's lips tighten minutely.

So. Bruce decided to be Batman, which means that Dick is Robin.

Gordon makes himself continue to smile and plans to yell at Bruce, because he's an idiot.

A stupid, stupid idiot who punches crime in the face.

 

\--

 

“On the topic of Batman,” Gordon says days later to Alfred as he sips at his tea. “Bruce has a cowl.”

Alfred nibbles at a cookie Gordon had brought since it's his turn, and says, “Indeed.”

Gordon hums. “I presume that you haven't effectively chewed him out yet because you believe it's not your place?”

Alfred doesn't say anything, but his eyes twinkle as he drinks from his cup.

“You wanted me to do it,” Gordon says accusingly. “Why am I always the one that has to do this?”

Alfred pours him more tea. “I don't know what you mean, sir.”

Gordon closes his eyes and stands. “Alright, you shifty bastard. I'll go talk to him. Hold my cup.”

“Yes, sir,” Alfred says in bemusement, and Gordon shoots him the stink eye.

“Where's the cave?”

“Below the house,” Alfred replies loftily, and Gordon sighs.

“Okay.”

 

\--

 

“Hello Bruce,” Gordon says icily as Bruce drives into the Batcave.

Gordon's adoptive son freezes, head looking over his shoulder. Gordon smiles.

Bruce scrambles to get back into the car, but Gordon grabs his shoulder, glaring at him.

“We need to talk,” he says terrifyingly calm, and he can _see_ the way Bruce's hands shake as he sits down, “about your life choices.”

Bruce starts to get up, but Gordon tuts and crosses his arms.

“Nope. You aren't getting out of this."

Bruce's shoulders slump.

 

\--

 

“That went well,” Gordon says as he leaves the cave and takes his drink back. “Ready to go back to tea?”

Alfred inclines his head. “Yes. And may I say, the use of the insult _you idiot turnip_ was excellently executed.”

Gordon grins. “Wasn't it just?”

“I assume you found your coat in Master Dick's room?”

“Yup.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always loved and brighten up my day and are saved in my Gmail.
> 
> Also! Here's my [Tumblr.](http://nikescaret.tumblr.com) Come visit and chat with me if you want!


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